


Stronger Together

by missazrael



Series: Namaste AU [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Modern Era, Namaste AU, Oral Sex, Reibert Week 2016, chapter 84 what chapter 84, there is no chapter 84 here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Reiner bounds up the steps from the subway, humming under his breath, his gym bag tossed over his shoulder and bouncing against his back.  His morning workout had been excellent, including a new personal best for the bench press, which had merited a gym selfie and a Facebook post, and now it’s a beautiful fall day, sunny and warm, and he and Bertolt have nothing else scheduled the rest of the day.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reiner comes home from the gym and Bertolt has a surprise waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stronger Together

Reiner bounds up the steps from the subway, humming under his breath, his gym bag tossed over his shoulder and bouncing against his back. His morning workout had been excellent, including a new personal best for the bench press, which had merited a gym selfie and a Facebook post, and now it’s a beautiful fall day, sunny and warm, and he and Bertolt have nothing else scheduled the rest of the day.

It’s rare for them to have a full day off at the same time, with Bertolt’s schedule at the bakery, but Bertolt had somehow managed to finagle a day off—a _Saturday_ off, even—and Reiner had left him sleeping when he’d gotten up to go the gym. They normally both get up around four AM, so they can have breakfast together before Bertolt goes to the bakery and Reiner goes to the gym before work, but Bertolt had been a sprawled, softly snoring lump under the blankets this morning, and Reiner had decided to let him sleep. He himself is a morning person, and feels the best when he gets up with the sun, but he knows Bertolt isn’t, and it seems cruel to roust him on one of the few days where he can sleep as late as he wants.

As if on cue, summoned by the swirling thoughts about him, Reiner’s phone chimes. He fishes it out of his hoodie pocket, and it’s a text from Bertolt.

**Are you going to be home soon?**

**just got off the subway five mins**

Sounds like Bertolt is up, and Reiner starts walking a little faster. If Bertolt hasn’t had breakfast yet, maybe they can go to that diner they both like, the one they found together in high school and have frequented ever since. They need to go buy groceries at some point today, and then maybe a short trip somewhere else, maybe a last minute drive to the beach with some friends, if they’re not busy. Reiner knows that he thrives on being around other people far more than Bertolt does, so he’ll let his partner take the lead on that one. If Bert just wants to stay home today, just the two of them, then that’s fine too.

Reiner is half a building away from their apartment when the smell hits him, and it’s like a punch to the solar plexus. He stops dead on the sidewalk, closes his eyes, and just inhales. Yeah, he knows that scent, knows it deep in his core, where it stirs up a montage of childhood memories behind his eyelids. He opens them and runs the rest of the way home.

“Is that _Versunkener Apfelkuchen_ I smell?” he calls as he bursts through the door, closing it behind him as quick as he can so Brutus doesn’t make any escape attempts and dropping to one knee. He hears the little dog start yapping from somewhere inside the apartment, but she doesn’t come running out, and after a moment, Reiner rises to his feet. “Bertolt?”

“She’s in her crate.” Bertolt’s voice drifts in from the kitchen as Reiner toes off his shoes. “I didn’t want her underfoot.”

“Are you baking?” Of course he is, Reiner would recognize the smell of his grandmother’s _Apfelkuchen_ anywhere—a recipe that, after decades of keeping it secret, she finally bequeathed to Bertolt a couple of years ago, after he’d inadvertently wowed her by cutting up all the apples for a batch of it without complaining—but it’s rare for Bertolt to bake on his days off. He usually spends his free time trying out other recipes, main courses and soups and the like, and if Reiner is going to get fresh baked goods at home, they usually arrive via a surplus from the bakery.

Bertolt doesn’t answer right away, and Reiner mentally kicks himself. He knew Bertolt was anxious about something last night, but he hadn’t pushed the issue; years of experience have taught him that pushing Bertolt to talk about what’s bothering him just makes him shut down, and it’s best to simply be present and let him work through it on his own, until he’s ready to share. He’d recognized all the signs of Bertolt being nervous, but then had gone to the gym like a big selfish dope, leaving Bertolt to wake up alone.

Just as Reiner is making his way down the hall towards the kitchen, Bertolt answers, and his voice has the soft, shy undertones that Reiner remembers so well from their teenage years. “Can you come in here for a minute, please?”

Christ. Shit, he’s reverting again, something caused a setback, and Reiner is almost running by the time he gets to the kitchen.

Reiner bursts through the door, ready to gather Bertolt into his arms, to press him against his chest and soothe his anxiety away, and then jerks to a halt, confused. The kitchen is brightly lit, inviting, and a pan of apple cake is baking away in the oven. Bertolt is standing at the sink, his back to it, facing Reiner, and he’s wearing an apron. Not just any apron, but a frilly pink apron, cut into a heart shape up near his chest and barely skimming the tops of his thighs, with _Kiss the Cook_ stitched on it in fluid script. It’s a joke apron that Reiner bought a few months back, one that Bertolt had accepted with stammered thanks and reddened cheeks, which had disappeared into the closet almost immediately. It’s the first time Reiner has seen him wear it, and even when he bought it, he’d never thought he’d get to see Bertolt wear the apron and nothing else.

Reiner has to swallow, his throat suddenly dry, his blood suddenly determined to be anywhere except in his head. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Bertolt lifts his face a little, watching Reiner through his long, dark eyelashes, his hands gripping the sides of the sink and bleeding his knuckles white. “I’m making your Oma’s cake.”

“I know, I can smell it.” Reiner takes a cautious step forward, aware that he’s approaching Bertolt the same way he moves on nervous animals at the clinic but unable to help it. “It smells wonderful.”

A flash of a smile, a loosening of the lines through Bertolt’s shoulders. He loves compliments, Reiner knows, and he’s encouraged, stepping further into the room. “And you… damn, you look as good as it smells. Better, even.”

Bertolt’s smile is bigger this time, and he looks up, meeting Reiner’s eyes for the first time. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Reiner had hoped Bertolt would wear the apron someday, but he hadn’t been holding his breath for the day to arrive. He especially hadn’t thought he’d get to see him with nothing else on.

Bertolt shifts his weight from foot to foot, and Reiner’s eyes are drawn down to his legs, to Bertolt’s long, beautiful legs, and he knows he’s staring like a creeper but can’t help it. “I don’t have anything on underneath it, you know.”

Reiner laughs, breathless. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

“Do you _really_ like it?” And there it is, Bertolt’s fucked up childhood making itself known; he has the hardest time believing that anyone could find him attractive, that anyone could want him. It’s unbelievable to Reiner, that Bertolt could still have no idea how truly beautiful he is, and he crosses the rest of the kitchen, putting one hand on Bertolt’s cheek and leaning in for a long, slow kiss.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Reiner asks when their kiss breaks, and he takes one of Bertolt’s hands and guides it to the front of his shorts, which he’s pulled into an impressive, monumental tent. Bertolt giggles then, his deep green eyes sparkling with belief, and cups Reiner through his shorts.

“Is this for me?” he asks, playful now, the crisis past, and Reiner realizes that this whole thing has been Bertolt’s version of seduction.

“It’s always been for you,” Reiner tells him, and Bertolt leans in for another kiss, his skilled, long-fingered hand rubbing along Reiner’s length. While there’s still enough blood in his head for rational thought, Reiner sends a quick little prayer to whichever gods are listening, thanking them for both putting Bertolt in his life and for his decision to take a shower after his workout.

He feels Bertolt’s mouth part under his, feels Bertolt’s heart rate pick up against his chest, and Reiner shamelessly rubs his entire body up against him, trapping Bertolt’s arm between them. Even with Bert’s arm in the way, Reiner can feel his erection, huge and glorious, almost pornographic in its size and heft, and he moans into Bertolt’s mouth before taking a step back and dropping to his knees.

“Reiner?” Bertolt asks, looking down at him with curiosity, like he has no idea where this is going. Maybe, after all these years, he still doesn’t, still can’t allow himself to believe that he’s desirable, that he’s wanted and loved, and Reiner’s heart breaks a little in his chest.

“Wanna see what’s under that apron,” Reiner rasps, reaching down to adjust his own cock, splaying his other hand wide across one of Bertolt’s thighs. “Can I?”

Bertolt swallows and nods, reaching one hand out to lightly pet at Reiner’s shorn hair, the same way he’d stroke one of Marco’s cats, and Reiner takes hold of the little ruffle at the bottom of the apron and slowly, reverently, lifts it upward.

He can still remember the first time he’d seen Bertolt’s cock, and how he couldn’t believe his luck. He’d already been in love with Bertolt then, had already loved him for years, and nothing about him could have scared Reiner away, but the sight of his glorious, porn-worthy cock had just sweetened the deal. If you’re going to be stupid in love with someone, you might as well be stupidly in love with all parts of them, and Bertolt has always, always been easy for Reiner to love.

He burrows his face in Bertolt’s thick thatch of pubic hair, breathing in deep through his nostrils. He loves the smell of Bertolt’s sweat, of the pure, masculine musk of it, and Reiner turns his face to the side, his cheek flat against Bertolt’s abdomen, and runs his tongue up the length of Bertolt’s cock. Above him, Bertolt makes a soft sound and palms at Reiner’s head, like he’s trying to grab his hair but can’t get a grip on it, and Reiner decides then and there that he’s going to grow his hair out a little.

Reiner nuzzles, moving his entire face up and down Bertolt’s length, and Bertolt shyly spreads his legs a little further, even hooks one ankle behind Reiner’s knee as both of his hands drift down to Reiner’s shoulders. Reiner remembers the first time they’d tried this, and how disastrous it had been. The second time, years later, had been better, and every time since then has just improved further. He knows what Bertolt likes now, knows exactly how to get him to moan, how to take him apart and then put him back together, and Reiner moves the apron out of the way as he tongues at the tip of Bertolt’s cock, so he can look up at his love.

Bertolt has his eyes closed, his mouth partially open, his dark hair—so thick and shiny, so inhumanly beautiful—hanging over his eyes. Reiner can feel the muscles in Bertolt’s abdomen flexing, tightening and releasing under his apron, and he closes his own eyes as he takes Bertolt entirely into his mouth.

Bertolt is big enough to hit the back of Reiner’s throat, but long practice means that is no longer a problem. Reiner takes him deep, feeling Bertolt splay him out, stretch his jaw and plaster his tongue to the floor of his mouth, and he swallows when he feels the head of Bertolt’s cock settle between his tonsils.

The sound Bertolt makes is one that sounds like proof of a higher power, and Reiner sucks on his cock slow and deep, the way that drives Bertolt crazy, drinking down the pre-come that comes pouring out into his throat. Bertolt makes that noise again, and Reiner opens one eye, looking up at him in concern. Bertolt seems more keyed up than normal today, more on edge, and Reiner wonders if he should stop.

“Keep going,” Bertolt whispers, and opens his eyes, meeting Reiner’s. He smiles a little, his breath panting in his chest, and touches Reiner’s cheek, his fingers caressing along Reiner’s cheekbone. “Keep going, Reiner, please…”

Never one to turn down such a sweet request, Reiner smiles around his mouthful of cock, and gets to work.

It doesn’t take long before Bertolt is gasping and tense, gripping Reiner’s shoulders hard with both hands—Reiner doesn’t mind, it’s almost like a mini-massage after his workout earlier—and trying so hard not to thrust his hips forward, trying to be polite but struggling. Reiner solves the problem for him by taking him entirely into his mouth, deep-throating Bertolt’s entire length, and when he swallows this time, Bertolt comes with a shudder and breathy whisper.

“Oh, _Reiner_ …”

It’s music to Reiner’s ears, and he stays where he is as Bertolt’s hips stutter back and forth, as he works through his orgasm. Reiner drinks everything Bertolt has to give him, swallowing him down until there’s nothing left, and then slowly lifting off his cock, looking up to watch how Bertolt flushes across his face and chest, the way he always does after an orgasm.

Bertolt takes a few breathes, getting control of himself, and then strokes Reiner’s hair again, looking down at him with such love and vulnerability that Reiner half wants to take him in his arms and carry him to their bedroom, where he can hold him for the rest of their lives. Instead, he gets to his feet, his knees aching a little after their time kneeling on linoleum, and wraps his arms around Bertolt’s waist and puts his head on his shoulder. Bertolt hugs him back, and they stay that way for a few moments, leaning on each other and swaying.

“Reiner… what about you?”

“Hmmm?” The space between Bertolt’s shoulder and neck is warm and fragrant, and Reiner feels almost drunk off Bertolt’s scent. If someone could figure out a way to bottle that scent and sell it, they’d make themselves a fortune.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re poking my hip.”

So he is, and Reiner laughs a little as he takes a step back. “Sorry. You just do things to me.”

Bertolt nods, beaming quietly at the compliment, before turning in Reiner’s arms and leaning against the sink. Reiner knows exactly what Bertolt intends, and he makes a groaning sound in the back of his throat as he takes Bertolt’s hips and lines them up. Bertolt takes a small bottle of lube out of his apron pocket and offers it to him.

Reiner laughs as he takes it and starts slathering himself up. “You little minx, you thought this all through, didn’t you?”

Bertolt nods, and pride bleeds into his voice as he answers. “A good cook always keeps important ingredients in stock.”

Reiner laughs again, delighted by Bertolt’s joke—not that it was that funny, but that he made it at all—and puts the bottle on the counter. “I’ll keep that in mind, Chef Hoover.”

Bertolt ducks his head at that, and Reiner can see the back of his neck flushing red. “I’m not a chef.”

Bertolt puts an arm around Bertolt’s waists and leans in, pressing his chest to Bertolt’s back, and kisses the back of his neck. “But you will be someday. I know you will.”

Bertolt doesn’t answer that, but he parts his thighs, and Reiner slides his lubed cock between them. Once he’s in position, Bertolt flexes the muscles of his legs, putting beautiful, sweet friction on Reiner’s cock, and Reiner moans in Bertolt’s ear as he starts thrusting back and forth. Bertolt has amazing thighs, taut and heavy with muscle from standing and running around all day, and it feels like Reiner only needs to thrust a half dozen times before he’s coming, gripping Bertolt’s hip with one hand and mouthing at the back of his neck as his orgasm rips through him. Bertolt tightens his thigh muscles, cradling Reiner’s cock between them, and when he’s done, Reiner sags against Bertolt’s back.

“God, I love you,” he says into Bertolt’s spine, kissing the knobs of bone and tasting Bertolt’s sweat under his lips.

“I love you too,” Bertolt responds, which is unusual, he’s not the most vocal about his affection, and Reiner lifts his head in surprise. Before he can say anything, a timer on the counter dings, and Bertolt gently pushes him back and wiggles out of his embrace. “Go sit down, the cake is done.”

Reiner staggers to the kitchen table, hitching up his shorts as he does, and he watches as Bertolt, the inside of his thighs slicks with come and sweat, leans forward and takes the cake out of the oven. He brings it and sets it on the table, and a wave of memories hit Reiner along with the cake’s fragrance. Bertolt takes the chair across from him, still wearing his ridiculous apron, the cake between them, and takes a deep breath.

“Reiner… I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” Reiner is instantly on high alert; Bertolt very rarely asks to talk about anything, so when he does, it’s something serious, something he can’t keep to himself any longer. Reiner tries to reach across the table and take his hand, but Bertolt pulls his own out of reach. “I’m listening.”

“It’s just… we’ve been together for a long time, and…” Bertolt pauses, and Reiner’s guts crawl. He has no idea where this is leading, and his mind immediately concocts a thousand horrible scenarios: _we’ve been together for a long time, and I’ve realized that I’m actually still into women and not men; we’ve been together for a long time, and I’ve gotten bored with you and want out; we’ve been together for a long time, and I’m not the same person I was back then and don’t want anything to do with you anymore._

“Yeah,” Reiner croaks, trying to be encouraging. “We have.”

Bertolt nods, his eyes down and on the cake. “We’ve been together a long time, and…” he repeats, then squares his shoulders, visibly gathering his courage, and looks up to meet Reiner’s eyes. “And will you marry me?”

Reiner feels his jaw drop; he can’t believe what he’s just heard, can hardly parse it into English. “You… you’re serious?” He can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and his heart starts lifting through his chest, rising with tentative, desperately hopeful joy. “You want to get married?”

Bertolt nods, and he looks half-terrified, reaching across the table now, scrambling for Reiner’s hands. “Will you?”

“Oh my god, Bert…” Reiner grabs one of Bertolt’s hands and squeezes it so hard his knuckles pop, his other hand lifting to cover his mouth. “Oh my god…”

“Reiner, are you okay?” Bertolt sounds frantic now, on the edge of panic, and he stands up, moving around to the side of the table where Reiner is, dropping down to one knee and rubbing ineffectively at Reiner’s back. “Reiner, what’s wrong?”

“Oh my god…” Reiner drops his hand from his mouth and lunges out of the chair, scooping up Bertolt, who squeaks with surprise, lifting him off the floor and spinning him around the kitchen. “Oh my god, YES!”

“Yes?” Bertolt sounds doubtful when Reiner puts him down, like that reaction could be considered as anything but an unequivocal positive. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”

Reiner starts laughing, and when he does, the tears start flowing at the same time, and he’s suddenly laugh-crying into Bertolt’s chest, right on top of the stupid Kiss the Cook embroidery. “You big dummy, _of course_ I’ll marry you! I’ve only been asking every day for the last ten years!”

Bertolt puts his arms around him then, and for once, he’s the one cradling Reiner, rocking him back and forth through his emotional outburst. “Seven years,” he corrects gently, and kisses Reiner’s ear. “Seven years.”

“Seven years, ten years, who cares! You finally said yes!”

“You said yes, not me.”

“You finally asked!”

That makes Bertolt laugh, high and joyous, the rarest of his laughs, the one Reiner thinks only a few people have ever heard, and Reiner lifts his head to capture Bertolt’s mouth with his own, pressing as close to him as he can get. “We’re going to get _married_ ,” he says directly against Bertolt’s lips, unwilling to separate from him for even a second. “You’re going to be my _husband_.”

Bertolt shrugs, and rubs the tip of his nose on Reiner’s cheek, a strangely intimate gesture that has Reiner close to tears again. “I just… I finally realized something.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“That we’re stronger together than we are apart.” Bertolt says it smoothly, easily, without any forethought, and Reiner knows that means it’s something he’s been thinking about for awhile, something that’s weighed on him and that he’s mulled over in his own way.

“I think I want that engraved on my ring,” Reiner tells him before letting his head rest on Bertolt’s shoulder again. 

“What?”

“Stronger together.”

“Well, we _are_ ,” Bertolt chides him, as much as Bertolt can chide anyone, and Reiner can’t help but agree.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends!
> 
> So I was working on some straight up gross smut for Reibert Week, and then Chapter 84 happened. Fucking Chapter 84, fuck that noise. So clearly I needed to drop the porn and work on some DIFFERENT porn, some that takes place in my Namaste universe, where nothing bad is ever permanent and everyone gets a happy ending.
> 
> You might notice some clues that got dropped for Pranayama in here, as well as a bit of a timeline for the events that happen after Namaste. And yes, I fully intend to write something similar to this for Jean and Marco at some point. This had to come first, though, because Chapter 84.
> 
> Man, fuck Chapter 84.


End file.
